Work Text:
The ringing was the first thing he woke up to.
Not the music blasting from the headphones placed firmly over his ears. Not the feeling of his bedding soaked in sweat beneath his fingers. Not even the throbbing ache behind his eyes. Just a high pitched noise that demanded attention.
It used to be subtle; a soft thing that was annoying at best. Fading in and out, depending on how noisy his surroundings were. He assured himself it was just a headache, or maybe a side effect from blasting music while he slept.
But then it got worse, and worse.
He stopped wearing headphones.
It got louder, more painful.
He asked for some painkillers, and they worked. For a while.
But then it came back and it was worse than before.
He started wearing the headphones again the drown it out.
It didn’t stop.
Why wouldn’t it stop?
It didn’t ring underwater. He'd discovered that out while laying in the bathtub, so tired from sleepless nights that he just wanted to rest. He'd submerged his head entirely. And then there was silence. But he also needed to breathe. He didn’t want to, not yet. Just a few more seconds. A few more seconds of this blissful silence.
Pain in his chest.
A few more seconds, please.
Dots in his eyes.
Then he couldn’t hold it anymore and sucked in a mouthful of water. He'd shot out of the tub and vomited water and bile, the ringing like laughter in his ears.
He could still hear it ringing during those few, precious moments he got of sleep.
He tried to dig his nails into his palms, distract himself from the ringing. The pain grounded him. Just for a bit, but it was enough for it to become a drug.
First a pinch on his arm. Then a hit. A cut. Another cut. And another. Again, again, again. Just to stop the ringing.
Anything to stop the ringing.
It’s always there. It’s so painful now. He can’t leave his room.
He won’t eat. It doesn’t matter.
People haven’t seen him in days. It doesn’t matter.
He bangs his head against the walls. It doesn’t matter.
His friends worry about him.
It doesn’t matter!
He takes more pills. He doesn’t care if the ringing comes back stronger because at least it stops.
He cuts deeper. It doesn’t matter because the pain’s there anyway.
He holds his breath longer. Nothing matters when he chokes on water and blood because the ringing isn’t going away.
He yells at the ringing. Begs. Stop. Please. Go away. Leave me alone. He writes it on the walls. Go away. No. No. No. Stop. The ringing. NO. STOP. GO AWAY. IT HURTS. NONONONONONO-
Nothing.
He hears . . . nothing. No ringing. No pain. He smiles, just for a moment. He hears nothing. He feels no pain. He feels . . . nothing. His smile fades.
The empty pill bottle in his hand clatters to the ground. He doesn’t hear it. Couldn’t feel it in his grasp.
When did that get there? He doesn’t remember.
There isn’t any air. Why? Where did all the air go?
The world tips.
He reaches out to grab onto something, but he’s already on the floor. When did that happen?
He sees people. His friends, he recognises numbly. They’re yelling but he can’t hear. Why can’t he hear?
Someone picks up the empty bottle. Oh. That’s right. He took them all. The ringing was so loud. It’s okay, though. He wants to tell them that. The world is darkening but that doesn’t matter. The ringing stopped, he wants to tell them. It’s finally gone.
He’s scared.
His friends are disappearing.
No. Don’t do that, he pleads but no words come out. Please. I want to see you.
He falls onto his back. Why can’t he sit up? All his strength is gone. He can’t even hold his eyes open.
Everything is dark.
It's a cold darkness that he barely feels. It promises a numbness that chases away the ringing, coaxing him with an escape from the pain that seemed to follow him everywhere. But its cold and buried whispers of never seeing his friends again frightens him.
He's scared. He's so scared
But at least the ringing stopped.